Cohen searched his own pockets for a pen he knew he didn’t have. A black ballpoint held by slender fingers appeared in front of him. He grabbed the pen, unscrewed it, and discarded all but the barrel. With a steady hand that belied the urgency of the situation, Cohen positioned the narrow opening of the plastic tube just below Miller’s Adam’s apple.
A quick slap of Cohen’s hand and a chorus of short screams and groans was followed by a whistle as air escaped Miller’s lungs. Cohen lowered his ear to the pen barrel protruding from Miller’s neck. He leaned back when he heard a distinct sucking sound followed by another whistle repeated several times in succession.
Miller was breathing.
His chest raised and lowered in time with the audible flow of air. There was an enthusiastic round of applause as Cohen dragged a visibly weak, but improving Miller to the side of the metro entrance. Then the crowd was gone except for a few people who were waiting for the ambulance, and possibly the television crews. Cohen guessed one or all of them had called for the approaching emergency vehicle whose siren could be heard wailing in the distance.
Cohen’s thought was broken when he felt a hand squeeze his arm. He looked at Miller. “What is it?” he asked, though he knew Miller couldn’t respond at the moment. Not verbally, anyway. But Miller was trying to communicate something. The man’s bloodshot eyes, now positioned in his skull where they were supposed to be, rolled up. Once. Twice. Three times. Cohen looked over Miller’s shoulder. Across Connecticut Avenue. Then he understood. “The man with the gray parka.”
Miller closed his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I can’t just leave you here,” Cohen said. “I’ll wait until the paramedics arrive.”
Miller’s eyes opened. He squeezed Cohen’s arm again. Harder this time. He repeated the upward eye roll.
Cohen looked at the others waiting nearby. They were busy talking excitedly to each other, occasionally throwing a watchful glance toward the tracheotomy patient and his surgeon. They weren’t going anywhere. He faced Miller, whose face seemed to have slackened, drooping slightly. Miller closed his eyes, and Cohen decided there was nothing else he could do there.
“Where are you going?” someone called. “You can’t just leave!”
But Cohen was already gone.
Chapter 36
The Lisner Auditorium on the campus of The George Washington University was filling quickly as Casey and Andie made their way to some open seats five rows from the back. Raad’s lecture was scheduled to begin in two minutes, but the large influx of “just-in-time” attendees was no surprise. The same scene played out every day at every college in America. There was a good chance a majority of the younger audience members were required to attend as part of one course or another. Casey hoped his message would be welcomed by the students, at least for the entertainment value, but the people he really wanted to reach were in the front of the room—academics, influential alumni, and possibly a few government officials, elected or otherwise—and the star of the show, Davood Raad.
Two men in dark suits and more or less tasteful ties took the steps at stage right. They stopped when they reached the farthest of four chairs at the center of the stage. When they were in position, another pair climbed the steps.
“There’s Raad,” Casey said in a low voice.
The lead man went directly to the podium and introduced first the other men on the stage and then the guest speaker. Raad moved to the podium and acknowledged the applause with a raised hand.
Andie leaned over and whispered to Casey, “They’re reading the flyer.”
Casey nodded. He had also noticed. As many as half of the people in the audience were reading the papers he and Andie provided. Most of them were engrossed in the flyer the same way people read programs at a graduation ceremony, more interested in what was in their hands than what the commencement speaker had to say. Raad was talking, but there didn’t appear to be many people listening. When several of them started leaning over to their neighbors to point out one thing or another in the “Truth in Hiding” piece, Casey knew the seeds were planted. He just needed a little more time for the words to take root.
“In October of last year, just a few short months ago, Iran executed 26-year-old Reyhaneh Jabbari for killing a man she claimed had raped her,” Raad said, providing a recent example of Iranian oppression since 2007, the subject of his newly-published book and the topic of the evening’s lecture. “The election of Hassan Rouhani, the man the West hoped would bring moderation and change to Iran, was, as American’s like to say, ‘a pipe dream.’ Iran will not change through the process of democratic elections. Iran is a revolutionary state, and democracy is anathema to the Supreme Leader and is seen as a threat to his rule. Democracy will never be realized in the Western sense of the word as long as corruption in the Iranian government is left unchecked. That is where the change must begin—from inside Iran.”
“No wonder no one here ever pegged him for a spy, myself included,” Casey said. “That’s some smokescreen.”
“And if it’s your word against his,” Andie said, flipping over her own flyer, “I’m not sure you can get people to see through it.”
Raad talked for another fifteen minutes before he invited questions from the audience.
“Here we go.” Casey stood up and made his way to one of the four microphone stands positioned in the aisles on both sides of the auditorium. He stood behind a student—at least he thought the guy was a student—who was quicker on the draw than Casey. Rather than trying to hide behind the taller, much hairier man in front of him, Casey stood slightly to the right, hoping Raad would recognize him when it was the other man’s turn to talk. He wanted to see Raad’s reaction.
After fielding two softball questions from the front of the room, Raad pointed in Casey’s direction. To the sasquatch in front of him. “Yes. In the back.”
“Good evening, Dr. Raad. And thank you for speaking to us today.”
Raad nodded. But there was no indication that he recognized or even saw Casey.
“Sir, my question is about your arrangements with the Iranian government that allows you to travel back and forth to the Islamic Republic, even though you’ve made a career out of bashing the regime and its dismal human rights record. Could you tell us how you’ve managed to stay out of jail or worse every time you go back?”
I like this guy, Casey thought, looking up at the back of the man’s shoulder-length-hair-covered head. A few students in different areas of the auditorium clapped briefly and cautiously before Raad answered.
Raad adjusted the microphone position. “Thank you for your question.” He looked around the room as he answered. “It does seem a bit odd that I am able to voice the atrocities of my own government without consequence, but the answer to your question is...a bit embarrassing, frankly, and quite contrary to my rather humble nature. But because you asked, the answer is my celebrity. You see, because I am known throughout the world, the regime tolerates my criticism. Any actions to incarcerate, torture, or execute me would be more harmful than helpful for the regime, as the likely backlash would be more economic sanctions and a rise in anti-regime protests within the country. I am lucky in a way, but I do not believe that luck will be with me indefinitely. It is therefore my duty to speak the truth of what is going on in Iran as long as the door remains open.”
“Thank you,” the hairy man said and retreated back to his seat.
“Dr. Raad, I have a follow-up question and comment to your last answer,” Casey said as soon as the microphone was available and before Raad could signal to one of the others waiting their turn. “I applaud you for speaking the truth about what goes on in Iran, but isn’t there more to the story? Specifically, more to your story?”
Raad shielded his eyes from the overhead spotlights and leaned forward to better see his questioner. “I’m sorry. I don’t exactly understand...”
Casey cut him off. “I mean, you say a lot of stuff to get people angry at the
regime, but you used to work for them. What happened between then and now?”
“You are referring to my time as an advisor to Prime Minister Mousavi. That was decades ago, and it is public knowledge...”
Casey didn’t let him finish. “But isn’t it true you never left government service? And that the real reason the regime won’t kill you or throw you in Evin Prison is because you still work for them? And your celebrity. That’s not protection. It’s cover. An elaborate cover to mask your real occupation as an Iranian spy. Isn’t that the real truth?”
A murmur began to spread through the auditorium, growing louder as more people turned to look at the man openly accusing Dr. Raad of espionage and voicing their comments left and right. Casey saw several people holding the flyers he wrote, examining the text closer. Someone hurried behind the row of seats on stage and handed a flyer to the emcee. After a quick scan of the paper, the man jumped to the podium.
Casey removed his ball cap, and Raad straightened with the sudden recognition.
The emcee maneuvered in front of Raad and signaled the security guards stationed at the lower exits. He set the paper down and pulled the microphone to his lips. “Sir, this is not the time or place for protests and accusations. I must ask that you please leave the auditorium immediately. These men will show you to the exit.”
Casey watched the guards move closer up the aisles amidst a smattering of boos. He looked back at the stage and Raad examining the flyer on the podium. Another man came on stage and spoke in Raad’s ear while he eyed Casey.
The guards were two rows away when Raad moved back to the podium, smiling. He spoke quickly to the emcee. When the man backed away, Raad repositioned the microphone as the guards reached Casey. “Please. Please,” he said. “Everything is all right. Please, let Mr. Shenk speak.”
The guards moved away from Casey and took new positions at the back of the room in case their orders changed. Casey verified the guards were no longer interested in throwing him out, at least for the moment, and he moved back to the mic. “Hello, Dr. Raad.”
“Hello, Casey.” Raad held up the flyer. “I see you have taken your conspiracy blog to print. More baseless accusations, I see. I’m just shocked to see you have turned your sarcastic drivel on me.”
Casey was surprised by Raad’s reaction. He might have expected it from someone else, given the accusation, but Raad was usually quick with an answer to explain away any objections or questioning attitudes. That was how he handled sasquatch. But this was a different tact. Offense, not defense.
“It’s only baseless drivel if it isn’t true.”
“And what facts do you have? Certainly you have facts that led you to your erroneous conclusion. I would like to hear them, Casey.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “We all would.”
“I have my sources. Just like you have your source inside The Council.” Casey wished Giordano had gotten back to him so he would have a name to throw in Raad’s face.
“And when was the last time you talked to your source, Casey?” Raad asked, dodging The Council issue. “If he has the evidence you don’t, shouldn’t we be hearing from him?”
Casey flinched at the tap on his shoulder. Andie whispered in his ear and nodded to the man who had talked to Raad while he read the flyer. Casey didn’t recognize him, but he knew the leather jacket next to him. Both men stood by the exit, scanning the crowd.
Cohen, Casey thought. Not Cohen. Miller. Raad thinks Miller told me. And Miller’s dead. That’s why Raad’s so confident. Casey put his cap back on. But he probably doesn’t know about Cohen...possibly.
“Or perhaps your source doesn’t have any evidence. Is that it Casey?” Raad shook his head. “You should think twice about who you trust next time before you get yourself into some real trouble.” He gestured to the guards, and Casey was quickly grabbed at the elbows by the uniformed men.
Casey looked around at the faces of the audience as he passed them on his way to the exit. Many were smiling. Glad y’all had fun, he thought.
“Thank you all,” Raad said to the audience. “This has been a most enjoyable evening.” Polite applause echoed in the hall as Raad left the stage and exited on the opposite side from Casey, his two men in-tow.
Chapter 37
Raad conversed rapidly in Persian with the two men next to him as they left the auditorium and descended the short flight of stairs to H Street. “Do not worry about Casey Shenk. He is only a nuisance. No one will listen to his rants.”
“But what he wrote was true,” the other man besides Raad in a coat and tie said. “If the authorities check out his story, we are finished.”
“Settle down, Payam. I know Casey Shenk, and trust me, the only people who will dig deeper into what he said are The Council. And they will not dig far. They will be more concerned with protecting their secret existence than embarking on a mole hunt. I do not think Mr. Shenk has long to live after what he pulled tonight. And not just at the lecture. This flyer,” Raad said as he pulled the folded paper from his pocket, “is his suicide note. He will be executed soon, but not by us.”
“Jahan,” leather jacket said as the group moved to the sidewalk.
Jahan leaned on a polished black sedan twenty yards away. The hood of his gray parka was down as the wind had died with the arrival of darkness. “Salam.”
“Salam.” They took turns kissing Jahan’s cheeks, grateful for his safe return, but more so for his successful extermination of the Zionist spy sent to disrupt their operation.
“We may breathe easy, my friends. But only in this moment,” leather jacket said. “Jahan has bought us more time to continue Allah’s work despite the efforts of the Zionists and their American dogs, but we still have a job to do.”
“Shahin is right,” Raad said. “We cannot be blinded by our good fortune this night. We may praise Allah for Jahan’s success, but we must not let our guard down. You gave the message to our asset?”
“Yes,” Shahin answered.
“Then we must wait,” Raad said. “In a week’s time we may resume our work here. Until then, we will have no contact. When it is safe, I will send word.”
“And if Mossad has planned another operation before then?” Payam asked.
Raad clapped his driver’s shoulder. “Tehran will be on their own. And I am sure they can handle whatever situation arises. We know enough of Mossad’s tactics and methods that, if the leaders of our nuclear program are guarded, I am confident we will prevail.”
Payam was still uneasy. “Tehran may be able to handle their end, but what about us? I do not think we can just dismiss Mr. Shenk and the trouble he may stir up.”
“Payam is right,” Jahan said. “I think Miller was not working alone.” The man in the gray parka had everyone’s attention. “He could not have killed Amir and Najid and moved their bodies by himself. Do not look at me like that, Shahin. We all know they are dead, and there was no trace of them at the hit location.”
“There is something else,” Raad prompted.
Jahan nodded. “There was another man with Miller when I killed him.”
“You are sure of this?” Raad asked.
“Yes.”
“And you let him live?” Shahin almost shouted.
Jahan stepped closer so Shahin could feel the heat of his breath. “You were not there, boozineh. Assassination in the far enemy’s country is not like launching rockets into Basra. You are new to Qods, but you will learn. Fast in, fast out. Live to kill again. Understand, pesar?”
There was silence as the two men stared each other down. Content he would hear no more criticism from Shahin, Jahan backed away.
Raad spoke up as the exchange ended. “The other man?” he prodded.
Jahan leaned against the sedan again and fished a cigarette from his jeans. After the first drag he said, “Big. Well, tall. Solid. Miller was speaking to him as they moved in line to the subway.” Another drag. “A Jew.”
Raad nodded and stroked his beard. “Then Payam may
be correct. If Casey Shenk was working with Miller, he may be working with this other man. And that makes Mr. Shenk a bigger threat than I thought.” He had the full attention of everyone around him. He sighed. “We cannot wait for The Council to silence him. We must take care of Shenk ourselves.”
Everyone nodded agreement.
“And this Jew.”
Chapter 38
“This is America, man! Freedom of speech! Freedom of the press! This lady’s a reporter, you know.”
Andie shoved Casey down the final two steps. “Just go, jackass.”
The two guards who escorted Casey out of the auditorium laughed as they retreated back inside. The doors to the building clicked shut as Casey and Andie reached the sidewalk and turned left up 21st Street, strolling north at a snail’s pace. They knew when Raad’s lecture was over, there would be a crowd of people spilling out the doors they were just thrown out through. At the moment it was quiet.
“So, did that go how you expected?” Andie asked.
“Not exactly. I think we got our message across to Raad, though. And at least some of the folks in there seemed to think it was an interesting revelation, but something was wrong.”
“The guy from the office building.”
“That’s part of it,” Casey said. “I could tell whatever Raad was told on the stage couldn’t have been good. Not for us, anyway. Good for him maybe, because he was all smiles and wit after that. But when you pointed out the dude in the leather jacket, I started to get worried.”
Andie stopped before they reached the end of the building and faced Casey. “Because you thought something happened to Cohen.”
Casey looked at her in surprise. The more he worked with Andie, the more he wondered who was rubbing off on who. “That’s exactly what I thought at first. But then I realized that probably wasn’t it at all.”
“What then?”
“I think they killed Adam Miller.”
Truth in Hiding Page 19
